Luyện nghe bài hát Sad Millionaire

Can I do my

*(Yukmouth)*

on it.

*(Brownstone)*

Oh, oh, ohhh.
Oh, oh, ohh, hey.

1 *(Yukmouth)*

Uh.
Niggaz be havin the fuckin blues,
like
I lie,
homicide,
gram cry,
for me that I won't die,
suicide,
I try,
fly,
drive-by,
let it slide, do or die,
you an I, by,
them niggaz off my side,
wit to hide body die rot,
on porch,
when I expectin some of drive-by,
retaliation,
under I lace, MOBBulation,
lets begin breakin the situation,
when, the end of our frustration,
so while we racin the block, wit a thirty-eight, an glock,
the cops is to umm,
on yo vehicle,
run yo vehicle,
even if they have to gun yo vehicle,
nigga, up in high-speedaz,
they be the Rosco Bico train,
swervin in an lanes,
from O-H-A,
what throw away,
eh, though, eh, way,
pistol,
every fucka wanna peep.

x2 *(Brownstone & Yukmouth)*

Millionaire!
Dreams of big play.
seen a sad millionaire?
I that money make us happy.

2 *(Yukmouth)*

if I was a millionaire,
huh,
a playa on the block,
that a mac daddy, drivin a black Caddy stop,
strap happy,
'cause slangin all my rocks,
point yo at me,
I don't know uzis to yo knot,
fo wit the big shot,
I was juss flat droppin g on the ground,
be down,
one of my shit, an get shot,
only the baddest jock,
get chosen,
shouts,
for bitches out who be voguin,
on the of poppa,
brand new hundred billz, an a choppa,
where niggaz fo real, like Chubacca,
who got the gonga,
'cause I be like phone doctor,
on vodka,
eatin lobster, Frank Sinatra,
be the MOBBsta, who shot ya,
like Blanca,
come in the end juss to haunt ya,
plus I twist a like Big Poppa,
the big proper use,
go get yo bread an do what ya to be a,
playa.

x2

3 *(Yukmouth)*

Uh.
You niggaz juss a monsta,
fuck a type, I gonga,
in the Bahammas,
yo baby mama,
(whoo,wee!)
two wow, you wow,
man,
who wow "Bout it, it",
niggaz be they be the Ice Cream Man,
but I it, doubt it,
be rowdy,
hit the paper clout it,
sky up out the four day la-la-by yo Cuttie like a ballot,
smokin blunts, an weed, sex,
fresh drug rehabs,
spend two g's at function I be at,
that, BITCH!!
Ya is Smoke-A-Lot,
grab by the throat-a-lot,
that's ya told the cops,
I the glock,
aim it an fire,
retire nigga,
nameless,
is fo hire,
desire fire,
as I'm a tuck her,
we're so called "potnaz", 'em,
an dust em off wit a choppa, I rush 'em,
bust 'em,
too skinny I can't 'em,
an when the mutha fuckaz got meal tickets you might have to 'em,
an fo real.
Nigga.

x5

*(Yukmouth during chorus)*

all this fuckin money, an still ain't happy. Nigga, still got
problems wit stress, fuckaz juss think you got it made, they try
to rob you an shit, yo own potnaz in the hood juss love you. Fuck
money, I wish I have it, 'cause when I didn't have it it was all
good, niggaz loved me when I was juss drinkin brew an at the store.
Now ya got money everybody wanna me, nigga, ya own relatives wanna
do you, boy, this is Nine Skrillion, make a million bucks.
Millionaire.